


My Fixed Points Can't be Stopped

by coldfiredragon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Eliot is 18, Episode: s04e05 Escape From the Happy Place, Found Family, Heart Attacks, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Spectacular Summer of Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon/pseuds/coldfiredragon
Summary: In the thick of trying to escape his happy place, Eliot leans on a memory of Quentin for support as he revisits Indiana to tackle a difficult moment involving his mother.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31
Collections: Eliot Waugh's Spectacular Summer of Shame





	My Fixed Points Can't be Stopped

**Author's Note:**

> See the end for the full list of triggers.

“Which one of them do you want to revisit next?” The question came from Quentin, who stood about half a step back at Eliot's left. Eliot, for his part, didn't speak but continued to silently stare at the rows of words printed in white chalk. Uneven, hastily drawn lines marked off over half a dozen of the available options. “Eliot? Hey, we need to figure this out.” Gentle fingers curled into the hook of his elbow and squeezed as Quentin stepped closer.

“You pick.”

“His choice is rather irrelevant, considering that he's an immaterial memory.” Charleton chimed in from where he sat on the lower steps of the cottage stairwell. “You're just using him to voice whatever choice you've already made.” Eliot closed his eyes and tried to minimize the slight hitch of breath. He didn't need reminding that the people he cared about most were figments.

“You want to do the two-for-one?” Quentin nudged his way under his arm and looped an arm around his waist. He wasn't the naive first-year boy Eliot had imagined when he'd initially cooked up his handful of decoys. This memory was older; his hair had grown out a bit, and when Eliot turned into his hold, that hair smelled like clean sweat, homemade soap, and chalk dust. Fillory, home, Quentin. This Quentin knew about most of the memories on the board; it was a perk that came part and parcel with fifty years of life together. When you got that much time with one person, eventually, you learned not to be afraid of your deepest regrets.

“The two-for-one.” Eliot agreed. His eyes fixed on the board.

“We can try to knock down a few more of the low hanging fruit.” Quentin offered.

“It's not going to be any of them.” Eliot reached for the chalk and scratched lines through 'camping,' 'diving board incident' and 'first swim lessons.' The three had been mildly traumatic at the time, and he hated thinking about them but doubted his door would be hidden within any of them. Charleton had been right when he'd complained that the list was too broad; he needed to narrow the field and tackle the most painful memories before he ran out of decoys.

“What is the two-for-one?” Charleton inquired as he came to hover at Eliot's right.

“This one.” Eliot tapped the chalk against 'Car accident (2010)' and drew a line between it and 'Dad's heart attack' in the next column. Quentin's hair was silky smooth under his cheek as the memory crowded tighter to his side. “So let's get it over with before I cock out.” Eliot raised his arm to loop Charleton into his hold and guided both man and memory toward the front door of the cottage. The three of them stepped outward into the bedroom he'd used during the last years he'd lived with his parents.

Around them, the generations-old Indiana farmhouse creaked and groaned as the wind whistled outside. In the distance, a phone was ringing. At his back, Eliot could feel the chill of early fall permeating through the ancient weather stripping that lined the lone window. The bedroom had careened between frigid and sweltering, but Eliot remembered preferring the third-floor room because of its lack of proximity to his parent's bedroom.

A teenage version of himself lay draped languidly across the bottom bunk of a cast-iron bunk bed. One foot was braced against the ladder while a joint was pinched between long fingers. Vibrant purple earbuds were shoved in the teen's ears, and the cord trailed down his chest to the phone that lay on his stomach. Dirty clothes littered the floor, and a stack of adult magazines was piled under the edge of the bed.

“Does a woman require certification to have blond hair in your world?” While Eliot had watched himself, Charleton had stepped away to study the vibrantly colored theater posters that lined the majority of the available wall space.

“What are you...?” Eliot followed the other man's gaze to find him staring at a 'Legally Blond' poster. Despite himself, a snort of genuinely amused laughter ripped itself from his throat.

“No, she's umm, the title of the show is a play on words. Blonde women have a reputation for being dumb, but the lead character Elle Woods was intelligent enough to go to law school.”

“Isn't it demeaning to assume a woman's intelligence by her hair color?”

“Well yes, but that was sorta the trope of the film. She overcame what people assumed about her.” Eliot turned his attention back to his teenage self and waited for the inevitable moment that the memory would go sideways. He'd been eighteen and in the earliest months of his last year of high school when his father had suffered a heart attack while repairing their neighbor's tractor.

“Why are these women considered 'Wicked'?” Charleton inquired. Before Eliot could begin to explain that particular show, the sound of crashing feet echoed in the hallway.

“Eliot! Eliot! Get up, come on, hurry up!” Small fists pounded against the wood; then his bedroom door was thrown open with such force that it sent the bong he'd disguised as a desk lamp crashing to the floor as it rattled off his desk. On the bed, the teenage version of himself blinked blankly at their mother.

“Are you high? For fuck's sake. No, you know what? I don't even care. Get up. We're going to the hospital. Nate is getting the car.” Nate was Eliot's oldest brother and the only member of the family that their father didn't seem to look down on in some way. 

“Wai... what, mom? Hospital, what's?” Bloodshot eyes widened, and Eliot watched the teen almost clock himself against the bunk rail as he sat up.

“Your dad had a heart attack while he was over at the Kinneys, Susan just called. Why are you still sitting there? Get moving!” His mother was frantic, on the edge of hysteria, and Eliot stared at the floor as his younger self flopped back on the bed and giggled. When Quentin's hand slipped into his, he squeezed it with every bit of strength he could manage. Being a memory, Quentin didn't complain.

“I'm not going to the hospital for dad!” That he would even consider something so stupid had seemed like a ridiculous notion at the time. His father had treated him like dirt even before finding out he was gay and never ignored a chance to try and beat the queer out of him. Eliot brought what remained of the blunt to his lips and inhaled, then ashed the last bit.

“Why don't you care about anything important? Your father could be dying, Eliot!”

“Good!” He'd regretted the word as soon as it had left his lips. His mother had continued standing in the door, her face ashen pale, shaking with whatever mix of emotion she'd been feeling at the time.

“Are you really selfish enough to think you're the only one?” Eliot watched his younger self stiffen, then go limp against the mattress. Tears were pooling in his eyes.

“Mom...”

“You're going with me. We're going to be there for your dad when he wakes up. Is that clear?”

“I, okay, I'll... fine. I'm going to change. I'll be downstairs in a couple of minutes.” Eliot remembered relenting only for his mother's sake.

“Just hurry up.” Their mother ordered as she spun and disappeared from the room.

“And now for part two!” Eliot announced almost glibly as the memory shifted. He, Quentin, and Charleton found themselves packed into the backseat of his mother's pale gray 2005 Ford Taurus. Eliot had missed the argument between his mom and oldest brother over who should drive, but somehow Nate had been stupid enough to let their mother behind the wheel. The two of them had taken the front seats, and Eliot's teenage self sat alone on the rear bench. His body was twisted as much as the seatbelt would allow, and the three of them had to deal with the boy's legs resting in their laps. Eliot reached for Quentin's hand and gripped it tight. Then quietly started explaining what he'd been thinking as the memory played out around them.  
\---------------------------

The car weaved through traffic with an unpredictability that Eliot, still high off his ass, was only just starting to notice. Outside the cabin, horns blared as his mother jerked the wheel to take advantage of a minute gap between vehicles. The lane change didn't prevent them from getting stopped at the red light his mother had been hoping to avoid. 

Her hands drummed restlessly on the steering wheel, and she peeled into the intersection as soon as the light went green.

"Mom… maybe you should pull over and let me…"

"I know what I'm doing, Nathaniel!" The car jerked to a stop as she was forced to brake at the next light. 

Eliot twisted his body as much as the seatbelt would allow so he could rest his ear against the seat. Kesha's 'Take it Off' blared in his ears. The rout their mother had chosen was infamous for the lights. Sometimes you could sail through them almost unimpeded, but if you were unfortunate enough to hit the first one, you were virtually guaranteed to get stopped at all of them. The heavier than average lunchtime traffic they had found themselves trapped in wasn't helping their progress, and it seemed to be doing a number on his mother's nerves.

"Mom…" Eliot twisted his legs down to the floor and leaned to squeeze her shoulder when he heard her sniffle. In front of them, a van waited to make a left-hand turn against oncoming traffic.

"I don't want your dad to wake up alone! I need to be there." Eliot dropped his hand away and slumped back against his seat. He could only guess what their mom was feeling. It was even harder to judge if she was acting out of genuine love and worry, or out of fear of how her husband would react if he woke up alone.

"He's going to be fine. Dad's as stubborn as papaw's old barn mule." Nate reassured her. Stubborn was a kind adjective for their dad, but Nate tended to downplay their father's worst qualities. Their mother sniffled again and used a spare takeout napkin to wipe at her eyes. The van finally managed to turn, and their car lurched forward as his mother accelerated toward a light that already been green for too long. It flashed to the cautionary yellow as she gunned it, and turned red a second or two before she ever reached it. 

"Mom!" Nate's shout seemed to happen in slow motion. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. Eliot saw the pickup truck barreling toward the driver's side of their car seconds before it impacted. 

Maybe, if he hadn't been high, he could have stopped it. He could have moved, or slowed, or wholly frozen the other vehicle long enough for their car to slide past. As things had been, he'd barely been cognizant enough to blindly draw on his powers. Magic had flowed from him in a wave willed by panic and terror. 

His magic had ballooned the car doors outward as the truck had impacted them inward, creating an effect similar to the deployment of an airbag. Glass had shattered, metal screeched, and the back half of the car spun as the impact of the truck forced its direction.

Eliot felt his temple slam into something as the seatbelt seized across his chest. The memory blanked out and came back in fuzzy. He'd lost at least a few minutes because his mom was already out of the vehicle. He could hear her wailing praises to god as she knelt amongst the shattered glass and plastic. She should have been dead.

"Eliot? Hey, Kid? Stay with me. Stay awake." Eliot blinked at his brother's blurry face, then listlessly tilted his head back toward their mother. Angry tears burned at the corners of his eyes. Her precious lord and savior hadn't done shit to save them. God didn't care; he never had; he probably didn't even exist. 

"Nate?" 

"Fuck, you're nose is bleeding really bad." His brother's balled up flannel got pressed and held against his face. 

"Make her stop!" A small crowd was forming as people gawked from the sidewalk. The driver of the pickup was striding toward them. Eliot heard the chirp of a cop car in the distance. Nate's arm reached around him, and Eliot leaned into the other man as the strap holding him in place came free. 

The memory blanked out again and continued to cut in and out through various stages of the trip to the hospital. Eliot remembered waking up in the ambulance and hearing his mother crying off to the side. He hadn't been able to turn his head to see her because they thought he had a concussion. He'd responded to an EMT's questions when asked his name, and the date, and the president, then promptly blacked out again. 

\-----------------------

The world was black, but there was noise. 

"What is that beeping? And why can't I see?" Charleton demanded as the memory refocused for the last time. 

"My eyes weren't open yet," Eliot explained. His throat felt tight, and tears burned behind his eyelids. He had a sinking feeling that they weren't going to find the door. Maybe there wasn't a door at all, and visits to his worst memories were just an elaborate scheme to punish himself. 

Light and color flooded the space all at once. The room took on definition, beds and curtains, tables, chairs, and hospital equipment. His teenage self whined softly, then curled onto his side and started bawling. Nobody was in the room save the three of them. 

"Where is your family?" Charleton demanded. Quentin tucked himself against Eliot in a wordless offer of comfort. 

"Nate stayed to deal with the car. My mom only cared about sitting with my dad." Eliot dragged the back of his hand under his nose, then hugged Quentin tight. 

"Margo and I would be here." Quentin soothed. 

"I know, baby." Eliot blinked away tears. He'd gotten lucky somehow. His found family cared about him so much more than his biological one. Q and Margo would be there when he got out of this. They'd save him, as long as he could figure out a way to tell them he needed saving. 

"You haven't called me baby since…"

"There's no door." Charleton uselessly pointed out before Quentin could finish his thought. Almost on cue, the lights flickered, and there was a monstrous shriek from the hallway. An orderly got thrown past the open door. "Time to leave, time to leave now!" Charleton encouraged.

"Yeah." Eliot yanked the room's door shut with his telekinesis and threw a nearby table in front of it. Mentally he formed a bridge between the bathroom and his happy place cottage. Together the three of them ran, chased by the echoes of the creatures hunting them. 

They were running out of time, chances, and luck. To boot, they seemingly were no closer to finding the door out of his memories.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves an 18 year old Eliot smoking a joint, his father suffering a heart attack off screen, and a car accident described as it happens.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Thanks for reading!


End file.
